The End! (part two) **FINALLY!**

(Hmm... so where was I?  Oh, yes!  Now I remember...)


We'd been struggling through inclement weather for the past week in the ruggedness of central Maine...

For a solid five days at least, as we all *inched* our way (or so it seemed) up the muddy river of a Trail to Katahdin, I'd preached to whomever would listen (mostly just Velvet) about how we'd soon see the return of this mystical entity I liked to call "The Blue".  And I'd say it with a whispered sort of awe.  Of course, this "Blue" I professed to have once seen was the sky... the blue sky, which for so, so long had been a rainy gray.  But, no one really believed in it anymore, even when a yellow ray of sun would burst through a thin part of the drab  cloud-mass, or the black silhouette of our star was -for a happy moment- imprinted above our heads as a cruel reminder of its existence.    

But on the morning we awoke at White House Landing (where we'd taken respite from the drizzle we could no longer tolerate) there was a change in the sky... and *could it be!?* as we ate a pancake breakfast in the rustic dining cabin our heads were turned to the windows in GLEE!  The clouds were no longer gray, but fluffy, white, and furiously moving across the sky... revealing on the horizon a color that, as the day progressed, we knew would become The Blue!  How our spirits were lifted!  Quick checks of the weather forecast ensued with those who owned iPhones- apparently the weather had broken and a clear three or four days was expected.  Biscuit, Bumblebee, Velvet, BC and I made our plans then and there to summit Katahdin in three days from the current.  After breakfast we were shuttled by boat across the lake back to the Trail and began the last true leg of our nearly 7-month hike.

Walking away from White House Landing.

If, in reading this entry, it seems to you that the events of the last few days of my hike are blurry, or flow together unrealistically, it is not that my memory has faded- it's just that that's the way things seemed even as they occurred.  Those last three days of walking to the foot of our long-fabled end were mostly simple and beautiful, in that a feeling of elation pretty much carried us (or me at least) over the Trail, so that I remember no rough spots or aches or pains. 

What I do remember is this:

The day we left White House Landing, it was frigid.  Absolutely freezing.  I remember thinking "It can't be higher than 37-degrees right now..." and, sure enough, upon checking the weather later on at the shelter the high had only been 36.  That's even with the sun shining behind the beautiful soft blue of the sky that finally showed itself around 10am. 

We all came upon a pretty tricky river crossing just a few minutes after we left the lake.  It seemed that because of the heavy rains of that season, it was not possible to ford the stream, so a *hilariously unstable* make-shift bridge had been built (probably by hikers as a last-ditch effort) across the waters out of rotten logs.  Note to anyone who has never walked on rotten logs: they do not make good bridges!  As we usually did at sketchy river crossings, we all searched for alternative methods of fording.  None were found.  I then swore to whomever would listen that I was NOT crossing those logs.  Several of our party then went across the logs... one upright, the others crawling.  I then had no choice... if they had made it safely, then I was expected to follow.  That's just the stupid and universal rule of hiking in a group, I guess.  I got down and crawled across the logs, of course... and cursed aloud the entire way (which was only probably 8 or 10 feet).  It was only when I got across and stood upright again that I noticed my jacket pocket was unzipped, and my camera was sticking out of it!  If it had fallen out of my pocket while I crawled across the bridge (which I'm amazed it didn't) it would have been just my typical luck, with thousands of AT pictures washing away down that anonymous Maine river.  Needless to say I was breathing many sighs of relief, not only for my safe passage, but my camera's as well. 

Scarier than it looks! 

BC and I both hit one of our knees on a limb while crawling across, so we limped a little behind the others.  That's okay, though... it was usual of us to hang back a little and gain some distance from the group.  I don't remember much more of that day's hike, other than the river crossing and the fact that that we didn't go on very much longer.  The next shelter we reached looked good enough to us, and after figuring mileage for the next day and next, our collective group concluded that we could just stay here for the night and make a short day of it.  Short days are fun days, and there were really never enough of them.  We continued in good spirits for the rest of the day, and started on a fire immediately... not only for the warmth, but for something to do.  BC and I hung out in our tents, making hot food and drink, while the rest of the group filled up the shelter only a few feet away.  The clouds kept passing over us in such a pattern that the sun would get blocked out for minutes at a time, and the temperature would drop so noticeably that we'd only get out of our tents again once the clouds had cleared.  I think at one time the clouds even brought us some small hale. 

Frigid day at our last shelter.  The fire helped somewhat.

That night was one of the coldest we'd had in months, and so was the next morning.  I had on every piece of clothing I owned (including my ridiculously huge toboggan) as BC and I broke camp before the others.  This day was going to be special, as we knew that we got a straight 17-mile-line-of-sight view of Katahdin upon climbing the day's first and largest uphill. The climb was beautiful and relatively easy, with the trail winding through a gorgeous sparse spruce and fir forest strewn with huge moss-covered boulders.  BC and I both jokingly concluded that, should we ever need to hide out from the law, or wait out a foreign invasion of our own country, this hill would be the one place that no one would ever find us... that's how remote it felt!  And, it was upon the tip-top of that hill, with the winds blowing all their 40-mph gusts in my face, that I walked through the trees and out onto an open boulder and stared across (what seemed then) a very small distance to Katahdin itself.  For the first time.  And it was AMAZING.  Between the mountain and I stretched 17 miles, as the crow flies, filled up by a huge metallic-blue lake covered in patterned white ripples created by the unceasing winds.  Then forest behind that, a mix of reds and greens of all shades.  Katahdin rose above this forest with no foothills, just gray rock shooting up from the ground.  And, beautifully and unexpectedly, its top was covered in snow.  And what did I think?  There it was... the end of all our wandering.  To make things easier (and more realistic) I'd long ago learned to not even think of the end... just hike your miles for the day and be glad you made it another 24 hours on the Trail.  So what now?  Here was the end... and I could see it.  But it was not sad.  Neither was I jumping up and down, ecstatic.  I guess I just took a few minutes, smiled at the total beauty and awe of what I was approaching, and just accepted that the end was near.  I don't know what was going through BC's mind at that moment either.  He was mostly quiet, as usual.  He spent a lot of those last few days just reflecting on the entire journey.  And, staring at this mountain, everything suddenly came rushing back and you couldn't help but reflect on all we'd been through.  I know one thing for sure, I was immensely glad to see what I was seeing.  And proud.  I think sometimes people are shy to admit that they're proud of themselves, because I think (for some reason) our society looks down on self-pride.  But I see nothing wrong with it, as long as there's no gloating.  So, yes, at that moment I was proud.  And proud and grateful that my friends would also be there with me at the end... especially BC.  It never stopped being amusing that a boy who grew up and lived his whole life in one of the flattest states was able to hike all those mountains better than many men and women who were familiar with higher elevations.

My first sight of Katahdin.  Photos do not do justice.

 

Again, the rest of that day is mostly a blur.  We hiked near several large lakes, tracing their outlines while remaining deep in the woods.. .only catching small glimpses here and there between the trees of the water that lie beyond. We heard loons on those lakes, which was always a beautiful thing to have as a background noise while hiking.  I also remember crossing a couple gravel roads, and stopping for breaks on the rocks of each one, turning my back to soak up the sun and never wanting to get up because I was so happy and warm.  We crossed paths with a group of older individuals near one of these roads, who were all in possession of very nice cameras, and we guessed accurately that it was a photography class.  By and by we decided that we'd had enough hiking for the day, and BC and I set up a stealth-camp near the edge of that lake.  Biscuit, Bumblebee and Velvet approached just as night was falling and fell in next to us.  It was our last camp in the woods, as the next night we'd be in Baxter State Park at a campground set aside exclusively for thru-hikers. 

In the morning I awoke with sunlight streaming through my tent- the sun had risen directly above the lake, beautiful and warm.  I walked to the edge of the lake and stood on some rocks a few feet in, collecting water and washing my face.  I got out of camp a lot earlier than the others, though I tried and tried to call them out of their tents to accompany me.  They were all awake, but it was just too cold!  So I walked on alone towards Abol Bridge and the nearby store, which were located at the doorstep of Baxter State Park.  I knew I'd break at the store and wait for the others there.

The hike to Abol was beautiful... up a small incline which again afforded me a gorgeous (and much closer) view of Katahdin- still snow-capped!  I remember the area around me on top of that hill was so gorgeous that it looked manicured, like a Japanese rock garden.  I would love some day to return there during warmer weather and just wander around taking pictures.  But I had only time enough then to snap a few as I walked...

After an hour or two I found myself at a large logging road.  Following it to the right I came right to Abol Bridge.  It's funny, and this happened countless times on the trip, but I've read about these places all over the AT that I finally come to myself- and are nothing like what I thought they would be... which isn't necessarily a bad thing.  Take Abol Bridge, for example.  I've seen numerous pictures of Katahdin taken from the bridge, and imagined the bridge to be a large, sturdy structure built by the State Park to handle throngs of eager hikers and tourists.  Well, the bridge is not so large, and I really don't know how sturdy, either.  :)  It's just a normal-looking road bridge built to let the never-ending flow of logging trucks pass over the Penobscot River.  It's not in the State Park.  But the view!  It was so much better than any photo will let you in on.  I stood in awe of Katahdin once again.  Then I walked to the store (which much to my joy also had a short-order grill) got a grilled cheese, Red Bull, and Reese's Cups, and sat myself down on the bridge and stared at the "Big Mountain" as I ate my lunch.  In fact, there were tourists, just a couple and their dogs, who snapped a couple pictures then carried on their way.  Then Velvet came... and of course was "Whoooo!-ing" at the sight of Katahdin, as is his style whenever he encountered anything grand or beautiful or summited any peak. He headed to the store with the news that BC was shortly behind... and so, of course, I waited for my hiking partner just so I could see his face at the sight of Katahdin.  And I wasn't disappointed when, a few minutes later, BC came trekking over the bridge and I saw he was beaming with one of his genuine and too-rare smiles. 

Gorgeous view of Katahdin from the bridge.

Such a tiny little outpost! 

We took about an hour break at the store.  I bought supplies for the next day: more Reese's, more Red Bull, more grilled cheese.  Plus a pair of earrings that were surprisingly attractive.  Superfluous purchase, I know, but I hadn't worn earrings going on 7 months and decided that since tomorrow was (obviously) a special occasion I should go ahead and get them.  Both Velvet and BC later complimented me later on my ability to -who would have guessed?- look surprisingly like a girl.  While we hung out at the store, more and more hikers arrived, both by foot, but mostly by car!  Many people, it seemed, wanted to make sure they climbed Katahdin while they still could (as the park would be closing on October 15th).  Tomorrow was the 8th, so the deadline was fast approaching.  And since it was going to be a sunny day, many hikers who were behind on the Trail were jumping ahead to summit Katahdin, then going back to finish the rest they passed up.  Not a bad tactic if you feel you have to, but I was sooo glad that I'd not done that, that I'd hiked the entirety of the Trail in one straight line, neither bouncing forward or backwards or skipping any part (save for those 4 or 5 pesky miles at the end of the Whites that we couldn't access do to a flooded river).

Thinking we needed to get to camp fast while there was still time, BC, Velvet and I got out of the store and back on the Trail.  The Abol Bridge store was the official end of the 100-mile wilderness, and so now here we were back in "society" again, trekking an easy 10 more miles through Baxter State Park.  I say "society", but we really saw no one past the store save for hikers and park employees.  That is, until we got to the campgrounds.  Katahdin is the highest point in Maine, and an extremely popular and challenging spot to day hike, not only for Mainers but for people all over the country (and nearby Canada, too).  At at the campground I was greeted by such a strange sight: a mass of shadow visible through the trees that I could only assume was the base of Katahdin.  How imposing it looked from the ground.  No longer was I standing atop a far-off hill and gazing with childlike reverence at its silhouette... here it was, the real thing, and now it commanded fear and respect.

We set up at the lean-tos available for thru-hikers.  And though there was adequate space within the wooden structures, as usual, I preferred the comfiness of my own tent.  Our last meal was eaten same as any other.  Maybe an extra hot chocolate or Ramen packet was consumed... the only celebration we knew how to do at that time.  What else did we have?!  I went to bed early, but slept little.  I awoke in the middle of the night and, finally feeling the butterflies of excitement, was unable to sleep until about 3am. 

Our last dinner together on the Trail.

We packed up in the morning, each on our own, though I did tiptoe over to BCs tent and wake him as we wanted to climb Katahdin together.  Biscuit left first, wanting to get an early start as he does not go quickly up a mountain.  BC and I followed, along with Bumblebee.  Hikers are encouraged by the Park to leave their packs at the ranger station and take a day-pack instead.  They want to minimize injuries, I suppose.  Besides, why carry gear you don't need up an incredibly hard peak if you're only going to return before dark?  Well, the thing is, some hikers grow attached to their packs, as it was with BC and I.  I could not have gone without my trusty backpack, and so instead I just took my tent, cookware, and other unnecessary items out of my pack and left them at the station.  My pack then contained my sleeping back and extra food.  BC did the same.  Our packs were light as feathers, relatively, and I anticipated we'd have a much easier climb. 

Many tears were being shed at the ranger station.  Bumblebee had met up with two female hikers and was crying at the joy and end of it all.  I can't really pin-point and tell you why hikers cry at Katahdin or before Katahdin, but I suppose you understand.  We'd been hiking for almost as long as a pregnant mother carries a child.  The hike was our pregnancy, in so many ways.  And today we prepare to see our child for the first time. An odd comparison, maybe, but it feels right in saying it. 

We each signed in with the ranger on duty, and wrote in the last trail log.  I remember reading Biscuit's entry, who had just left minutes before us.  His was an ode to his deceased father, a poetic and poignant entry that brought tears to my eyes.  (Biscuit: do you have a copy of what you said?)  And then BC and I left the station and headed out towards the trail that would take us up the mountain.  We, as is required, signed in at the trail-head... it was around 7:45am I believe.  A warm day, and sunny... but a Class 2 day on Katahdin due to strong winds (which we couldn't feel yet from the ground).  And then we were off!  Literally... we flew up the trail for the first mile, making it in 15 minutes.  The terrain was just a gradual uphill... something we'd done thousands of times before, something our bodies were literally designed to do now.  And with our light packs, we felt free to run... so we pretty much did.  The next mile was much the same, only more incline and more boulders.  I was a little in front of BC, maybe 5 minutes, and ended up passing many day hikers.  And by "many" I mean all of them.  :)  Soon we'd pulled ahead of everyone else on Katahdin save for the thru-hikers who'd set out before us.  I remember the terrain at this point was getting rougher: just huge boulder after huge boulder that were only mountable by finding a smidgen of a foot-hold and pushing your entire body weight up with only a few centimeters of shoe gripping the rock.  But I kept on forward, as had been the trend for several months now. I think Velvet came up behind me at this point.  I don't know where he had been (!), but he was smiling (as usual) and breathing heavy and had blood smeared on his face.  Not uncommon!  We continued on a way together, I believe.  That was around the time we finally got above tree line. 

Velvet makes his way up the boulders... blood and all.

Let me paint this picture: you're climbing a very hard mountain on a very hard trail through the trees.  You get above the trees.  You can now see for certain what lies ahead of you.  You suddenly realize that everything you've done up to that point has been what you will then refer to as "the easy part".  Ha!  It was also then that I could feel the full force of the winds.  It was windier than Mt. Washington.  It was windier than any other mountain I met on the Trail.  Hell, it was probably some of the worst winds I have experienced in my life.  So we climbed bare boulders in the 60mph wind gusts, and (I'm not lying) there were several times I had to hold on with all four appendages just so I didn't blow over.  All I could hear was the wind.  All I could see was the entire state of Maine dropped out below me.  Above, all that existed was more rock, and scattered here and there little white blazes that (comically, it seemed) told us at which point to position ourselves under the boulders that would make it MOST impossible to climb them!  But, no, the blazes were always right.  And somehow I did not fall or fail to grip the rocks that would take me further upwards.  BC picked up speed at this point and caught up with Velvet and I.  BC, as he said, did not find Katahdin as difficult as everyone else.  It figures!  I remember at one point, though, where I crested a boulder that took me into a gap of boulders that created a natural wind-tunnel.  I paused, at the entrance to this tunnel, and contemplated the possibility of not going through- of turning around!  I actually thought of this for a second.  It just felt too dangerous.  I braced myself against the rock and let the intense gust run its course. In the lull, I (of course) forgot any notion of turning around and went forth.  At this point, to make things harder, there was no natural way up the rock face, and so maintainers had positioned rebar as a grip and a step up the rock.  I think it was at this spot that I recognized Katahdin for what it was- the hardest climb on the entire Trail.  But we were all having so much fun!  Whenever we'd catch up to the other, or wait for a friend to catch us, we'd have smiles plastered to our faces and wide eyes expressing what the wind wouldn't let us do with words: "Can you believe how hard this is?!  Can you believe that we're here?!  Can you believe that we're making it?!" And the other's smile would mean "yes" and "no" at the same time. 

Getting ready for the "fun stuff"!

Typical Katahdin boulders. 

We continued up the bouldered spine of the mountain to the summit, passing various day hikers who must have set out hours before us.  And then it happened that we climbed a boulder, popped our head up the top, and saw that there was no more climbing- we'd finally reached the long stretch before the summit known as the Tablelands (obviously due to the flatness).  It was so like the surface of Mars, or the moon!  Or, at least, it was to me.  Casually, it seemed, we walked the rocky trail over the Tablelands, being careful to stay on the path as to not crush the ever-present "fragile alpine vegetation", which in this case was just bare mosses and lichen, and some patchy grasses.  Other hikers from other trails were now converging with us as we all funneled towards the peak we could see approaching.  About a half-mile away we caught sight of the sign... there it was!  The End.  The real End.  And then you just walk dazedly for that last half-mile as you see the sign grow closer and closer, and you see the little congregation of thru-hikers who are waiting there, sitting, celebrating.

Tablelands.  Look how F L A T...

BC and Velvet got there steps before I did, with Velvet bellowing above the roar of the wind.  We were all smiles.  The other hikers howled in celebration as we reached out and touched the sign; hugged each other.  I think I stared at it like a god for a few seconds.  Such a sturdy, worn sign... just plain but so special, nonetheless.  And directly behind the sign- you see the rest of the state of Maine!  Standing on the tops of mountains felt so natural at that point.... I am wondering now if it will ever be foreign to me. 

Velvet and BC at the summit.

We all took our turns taking pictures.  I made sure I captured the moment of opening the special can of Rolling Rock I bought in Monson (100-miles ago) and had carried for 70 straight miles up to the peak of Katahdin to open in victory.  Rolling Rock was my favorite beer for many years, and as it turns out was my grandpa's favorite as well- so it was one of the most meaningful (or perhaps only meaningful) beers I've ever tasted.  I shook it up and sprayed it out... and the wind took the spray and blew it right back onto me! 

Delicious beer...

Next I asked Velvet to take a picture with my phone, so that I could text my family that I'd made it.  It was just after 11am.  It had taken us 3 hours to climb the 5 miles up Katahdin's ridge.  I sent the photo but got no reply, so I was hoping my family got it at that very moment but had no way to be sure.  In the meanwhile, I took the pebble that my friends Windsor and Casey had picked out for me in Amicalola State Park, Georgia (that I'd carried all that way) and set it on the very top of Katahdin, in a large cairn that had been constructed and was now filled with little Georgian pebbles, as is the tradition.  More sitting around in awe, more drinking celebratory beverages, more hugging friends.  Biscuit (who we'd passed on the ridge) and Bumblebee came up a few minutes later... Bumblebee crying her eyes out!  We cheered them on and hugged them as they reached us.  Oh, Bumblebee!  She just cried and cried as she stood back and looked at the sign.  She didn't even approach it for several seconds.  It had been a dream of hers for so many years to hike the Trail.  I guess too many people had told her she couldn't do it- wasn't capable.  Well, this was the year she didn't listen to any of them, and now here she stood- in awe of what she had done. 

The photo I sent my family from the summit.  LOVE
how the wind is blowing my hair VERTICAL.

For an hour we celebrated with everyone.  A day-hiker father and his sons struck up conversation with me, and one of his sons proudly asked if he could have his picture with me.  Of course I said "yes", and so now some kid who's name I don't even know has a picture of us on top of the sign.  He's the same kid I saw "peek" at a female thru-hiker who stood by the sign (asking everyone to close their eyes) as she mooned the camera for her summit picture.  People do crazy things at high elevations... :)

Such great friends- so happy to make it together.

And a little after 12, with the winds still strong but no longer debilitating, it just hit us collectively that we'd like to go down now, thank you very much.  BC, Velvet, Biscuit, Bumblebee and I gathered our things and happily, almost merrily, turned and walked the way we'd come.  And how many day hikers we passed then!  A throng of them, with intermingled thru-hikers thrown in as well.  We were glad to have beaten the crowds. 

We really flew down the mountain.  It was quite fun to hurl ourselves over those same nasty boulders that were so difficult to go up.  But even then, we found ourselves hurting after a couple hours.  Limping.  Ready for the rest that we knew would be coming soon.  How weird it was, still, to take those last few steps on the Appalachian Trail.  I made BC come near to me, and I took his arm in mine, and we took our final steps on the Trail together, arm in arm, with our free hands raised in celebration.  And then that was it.  We were done.  And, of course, it was not going to sink in for quite some time... though I do remember feeling an overwhelming sense of completion and exhaustion all at once.

Velvet captured our last steps on the Trail.

The next few days we spent in Millinocket, about 15 miles east of Katahdin, and then BC and Velvet and I found ourselves in a rented car driving across Maine (with a stop at Stephen King's home) to the coast, and Acadia National Park (our 3rd national park in 7 months).  We spent the night on the beautiful coast, drove down the coastline the next day, and ended up in Boston, where we bid adieu to Velvet.  BC and I hopped the Amtrak to Chicago- a sleepy ride in which we got to revel in the beauty of the fall foliage that was still at its peak in the lower states.  From Chicago we made our way by train to Cincinnati, my "home"!  How wonderful and surreal it felt to be back.  It still does.

In all those months hiking, whenever asked, I would say "HELL NO! You've got to be crazy!" when asked if I'd do it again.  I was in pain everyday.  I was too hot, too cold. I was always wet and smelly.  There was always an uphill in my immediate future.  There were too many miles to go left in the day.  But a strange thing happened immediately following Katahdin: I forgot all of those negatives.  "Forgot" them in a sense that I knew they happened, but I forgot the reality of what they actually meant, so that now all I'm left with is a collective sense that the Trail was something gorgeously good that happened to me.  And I miss it.  And to answer that question if posed to me now, "Hell yes I'd hike the Trail again!".  And I really mean it. 

Time moved so much slower when I was on it.  A day was satisfyingly long.  Perhaps that's the real length of a day, and in the "real world" it just goes by too fast.  A day was long enough that three days was enough time elapsed to start forgetting what happened on that day.  And a week?  Forget it!  That was a lifetime ago!  I think that's a better way to spend your life- feeling like there's too much time in a day.   

Snippets of "trail life" keep coming back to me at random times.  I remembered just last week that I used to know (not that long ago, actually) what sound a group of grouse will make before they blast out from under your feet in evasive flight:  A sort-of soft little peeping sound.  But it was only a millisecond before the blast, and it was as if they knew not what to do and were talking amongst themselves about last-resort measures (which, of course, was always to burst out and fly quickly away, scaring the poop out of the poor hiker who stumbled upon them). 

And at random times throughout the day a picture will pop into my head, quite unasked, of a certain place I'd been on the Trail at a certain time.  Places I thought I'd forgotten- should have forgotten!- will come back in all their detail and just hit me at the oddest moment.  And I'll say "Hmmm... I do remember that field in Virginia where we stopped and ate that weird-looking berry and the cows were mooing down in the valley" (or something like that). 

I've been asked if the transition was hard, from trail-life back to society.  For me, the transition was barely noticeable.  I think one of the reasons I actually made it was because I've always been wonderful at handling change- I even seek it out, to some degree.  So, no, there has been no rough transition.  Plus, the Trail still seems to be a part of my life in a way: I talk about it constantly because everyone seems to want to know about it, I've been interviewed by the local paper, I've made posters and slideshows, etc.  And it's all wonderful... and I know I'm not done with the Trail yet.  Whether I hike it all again one day, or just go back and do little sections with a good friend and a camera, I know I haven't seen my last field or valley or mountaintop. 

I'd like to add something that I thought many, many times while wandering out in the woods over the last year: that it really wound't have been possible for me to do this if it was not for the help and support of my family and close friends.  Honestly, you guys.... it meant the world to me to know that you were eager and thinking of me from home.  I know that got me through some rough times out there.  Many people were also so generous with their financial support, either in giving me money early on in my preparation or sending me food when I needed it on the Trail, to just helping me out when I finally made it home. This is true especially of my grandparents, Gene and Margaret, and parents Dave, Patty, and Becky, who were AMAZING in their support and enthusiasm for my adventure.  I can't go without acknowledging Stewart, either.  We did so much planning and preparation together.  I regret that I couldn't tell you then what I know now, thinking that perhaps I could have saved you some pain by getting rid of the needless things we were carrying in our packs in the beginning.  But experience can only come with time, and I know you will one day be back to hike again. To all my friends who gave money or time or love to me on my way: Thank you so much!  I have grown as a person thanks to what you helped me accomplish.  I owe you more than I can ever give. 


And with that I think I'll finish this entry, though I'm not entirely sure that this is the end of the blog altogether.
So, until next time...

The End! (part one)

Well, it's been a month and a day since I summited Katahdin- think it's about time to type up my final entry.  ;)  My excuse (and believe me, I'm sure everyone around me is getting tired of hearing this as my reasoning for not doing anything for the past month) was that I just wanted to relax.  Of course, I thought I'd just relax for a few days and then finish my blog, and then that turned into a few weeks, which has now become a month.  I guess since the blog was mainly intended for the reason of communicating with family and friends- and because I can now do that in person or through Facebook- I didn't find it as pressing as I once did.  However, I understand the need to complete the written account of my hike, plus many people were wanting to know what my final weeks, days, hours were like, so here goes:  


 I'll pick up after I left Rangely with BC.  The weather was getting noticeably colder and wetter.  Okay, let me also add windier.  Ha!  Basically, winter was creeping up on us and we knew our time on the Trail was becoming limited.  There was not only the urge to finish the hike to feel the sense of completion/accomplishment but also now the added pressure to finish while we still could, while the weather permitted.  Earlier and earlier each night we were wanting to make camp, cook dinner, go to sleep.  Humans just aren't made to be exposed to those sort of conditions day after day, and our bodies were beginning to let us know this.

BC and I left Rangely alone, without Velvet (who had a mystery-illness) and Bumblebee and Biscuit (who had hiked ahead, hitched in from a different road, and were now taking a couple days off).  It felt good to hike alone with BC for a couple days.  "Just like old times" we reflected. A hiker's mom had given us a ride from Rangely back to the Trail, and had bid adieu by bestowing us with two Coronas a piece.  A little bit of Trail magic even in Maine.  We didn't even care that we were carrying the extra weight of glass bottles.

BC and I saw our second and last moose during our couple days of hiking alone- an older cow chewing plants complacently at the edge of a still, silver pond.  Grey fur marked muzzle and shoulders.  We thought she would run as we approached but she just remained there as we quietly and slowly walked the perimeter of the water.  We were happy we got to see a second moose.  As it turns out, a porcupine is the only animal on my "must-see" list that I never saw (save for two dead ones on the side of the highway... which I ended up reluctantly "counting" after the hike).  

Our last moose sighting.

On top of Saddleback Mountain BC and I caught our first glimpse of Katahdin to the north; it was merely a shadow of a grey smudge away on the horizon seen between the valley of a closer ridge.  We didn't care- it was the end and it was finally in sight.  We celebrated on top of the frigid peak by drinking one of our remaining Coronas.  Behind us lie Mt. Washington and the Whites, still the largest and most formidable ridge in view.  What an odd and indescribable feeling it is to advance mile by mile- peak by peak- over a range of mountains spanning the length of the eastern United States- to be able to see where you've been and where you're going at the same time.  To look back at Washington was deceiving: it had the bright sun above it and looked relatively benign.  Only those who have climbed it know the truth of its summit.  But that is true for all of the Trail and all of the mountains and valleys and forests I'd visited.  To observe from afar is just a fantasy, while the truth lies in walking upwards and inwards.  Again and again in life, through myriad lessons in every scenario, I'm taught and reminded that the truth is never easily attained, but is to be attained nonetheless.  And the Trail taught me not to fear its truths, even though I sometimes glanced at the approaching masses of mountain ridges and thought "there is no way I am going to be able to do that". Ultimately, by not fearing the knowledge of whether I could do something or not, I learned my own strengths and found that most things are attainable if I approach them with the willingness to at least try.  That's not to say I was never afraid... sure.  Afraid of falling, afraid of twisting an ankle, afraid of the dark and the mysterious noises that issued from the blackness of the forest.  But not afraid of failing.  I couldn't fail, I told myself, as long as I kept moving forward.  And so I did...

The beauty of Maine's mountains cannot be captured on film.

BC and I enjoying our celebratory beer at the first sighting
of Katahdin.

Not far from Rangely BC and I passed through Stratton, where Velvet (who was feeling slightly better) hitched forward and met us to continue north.  The Bigelows (Maine's last big mountains before Katahdin) lie before us, and a two-day march led us up and over what was a mostly misty, cold, and typical jumble of Maine rock.  It was here that we passed the current 2000-mile mark (which tends to drift either north or south every year due to trail extensions/re-routings).  However, at the northern base of the Bigelows lies the iconic "2000 mile" road which has been spray-painted to mark the mother of all Trail-milage milestones.  It was here that I took my picture and actually celebrated.  I was officially a "2000-miler", which means something in the Trail community. 

2000 miles is, trust me, a lot more than just 2000 miles, both
actually and metaphorically.  Those miles changed my life.

It was at this point, right before we arrived in Carratunk, that whatever sickness had been ailing Velvet also hit me.  It started at first like a slight upset stomach... maybe just bloating or gas.  But nothing was wrong with my stomach- save for the fact that I felt I had to burp but could not.  The real problem lie in the fact that I couldn't hike uphill without sweating, hurting, moaning and generally feeling like I HAD TO STOP!  My body was screaming at me that something was wrong if I even slowly ambled up a gentle incline, let alone went the quick pace that I was accustomed to and needed to keep up if I were going to make my miles for the day.  So we took a day off at an outdoor center conveniently located a few miles off Trail to assess what was going on.  I was at such a low morale point after just a day.  I was ready to quit, to call the rest of the trip off.  I had passed the 2000 mile mark, seen Katahdin, basically walked the entire length of the Trail.  It was almost seven months since I'd started out and I'd been through a "bear attack", break-up, record setting heat wave, the flu, a hurricane which unprecedentedly closed the AT for days, multiple minor injuries and morale-smashers.  And now my body was shutting down.  Now I couldn't even walk a minor hill on what was essentially a flat part of the Trail.  But then, as things usually go on the Trail, a "miracle" happened: Velvet's doctor called and informed him that his stool sample showed that he indeed had giardia (the same parasite that had taken BC off the Trail for a few days right before the Whites).  Velvet and I had for the last couple days assumed that we had the same illness, since our symptoms were exact, so I was extremely surprised to learn that I had what was probably giardia.  Luckily, Velvet (being only 19) was still covered by his parents' insurance.  He selflessly hitched into the nearest town and back, stopping at a pharmacy to get medication, which he then split with me at no charge in what was an absolute act of generosity.  I was so humbled and appreciative.  It is really only an illness which makes you aware of how wonderful feeling healthy is.

I found I was not the only creature sitting by Flagstaff Lake. 

We left Carratunk the next day, having crossed the Kennebec ferry, which is one of the last milestones before Katahdin.  Every day I was reminded of how close we were getting.  But there were still many hard days ahead of us, and I knew that.


In fact, it started with that very next day after receiving the medication.  Due to the excessive rain brought upon by Irene and other storms, this area of Maine had a higher-than-usual number of mosquitoes for the season.  And by "higher-than-usual" I mean they were everywhere.  You could see them in the air.  You'd run ahead- on the Trail, on a road, over a river- and look behind to see a swarm following intently behind you, even as you were running into a brand-new swarm.  I kept my trekking poles in one hand so that I could continuously swat with the other.  My shoulders, forearms, behind my knees.  My forehead and stomach.  The top of my head.  Nothing deterred them.  I smeared mud on my arms and legs in a final, anthropological (!) act of desperation, trying to remember where I'd learned that the native Americans used to do this to prevent bug bites.  Maybe I hadn't.  Maybe it was elephants in Africa to prevent bug bites.  Maybe I'd just made the whole thing up... but I didn't care.  It was better than nothing.  So here I was, my body protesting due to giardia-related muscle fatigue as I ran up the Trail, being followed by thousands of mosquitoes, voluntarily covered head to toe in pine needles and mud... and then I slipped on a root and fell and hit my knee and immediately just burst into tears!  It was the last time I cried on the Trail.  I actually allotted myself five minutes to sit and cry from self-pity (for I hadn't really hurt myself in the fall).  And it worked.  I have usually found that allowing myself to cry instead of holding it back usually clears me emotionally.  So I sat there and cried and told myself I'd stop crying by the time BC showed up (he was hiking behind me), but I was done before he arrived, and found that the mosquitoes actually backed off when I sat still by the river.  How quickly things sometimes turn around!  After a 30-minute break we arose and continued hiking.  The mosquitoes and my self pity were gone- never to return for the rest of the trip.


Monson was the next Trail town- the last Trail town, and so we decided to take a zero day since all we had ahead of us was the 100-Mile Wilderness and then Katahdin.  Bumblebee and Biscuit arrived just in time to take the day off with us as well.  We decided at that point that the five of us (Bumblebee, Biscuit, Velvet, BC and I) would hike the remaining miles together and summit Katahdin as a group.  At the hostel in Monson I called my family for the last time- everyone was thrilled, as my success was pretty much guaranteed at this point.

We weren't scared.  :)

The 100-Mile Wilderness (we all just called it the 100-miles) is the longest stretch of the Trail without a town or easy hitching option.  You're supposed to carry enough food to get you through the entire thing, but we all did a food-drop 30 miles in so we didn't have to break our backs with 10 days'-worth of food (which I couldn't have fit in my pack anyways).  The first day in the 100-miles was easy and exciting.  We met many day hikers who smiled and wished us luck, one section hiker who was turning around due his unpreparedness, and a southbound flip-flopper we'd last seen in the Shenandoahs who said he hated, hated, the 100-mile wilderness.  BC and I gave a knowing look to each other across the Trail: he only hated the 100-miles because he hadn't been through the Whites yet.  The Whites were serious mountains- laughably difficult in some places.  Nothing was hard, as far as we'd seen, after you pass through the Whites.  We wished him sincere luck and said a final goodbye.

We took it a little too easy for those first couple days in the 100-miles- we'd packed too much food and so weren't in a rush due to a shortage of supplies, and plus we knew that we had it in the bag, we would finish our hikes before Baxter Park closed on October 15th so we were really in no rush.  That is, until the rains started.  A morning of fog turned into drizzle by noon, which was a soft downpour by 3pm.  By 4pm I still had about 6 miles to go to the nearest shelter, and was pressed to get there before dark as to avoid hypothermia and the dangers of night-hiking in bad weather.  Velvet was maybe a mile ahead of me, BC perhaps hours behind me, and so I walked alone.  It was such a gorgeous stretch of trail, and I could even admire it as the rain constantly hit my head and my feet soaked up every drop of every puddle through the mesh tennis shoes I wore.  I began to panic, however, as the evening grew ever-colder and I had still many miles to go.  My mind began to wander, my toes lost sensation, I couldn't move my fingers independently of one another, but most alarmingly was that it took my eyes many seconds to adjust focus from near to far.  That had never happened to me.  And so I walked as quickly as my numb little stumps of feet would carry me, feeling the whole 30 pounds of pack on my wet body, fearing I had the onset of hypothermia but knowing there was nothing I could do but keep walking.  Geez!  How many times, I wonder, on the Trail did I tell myself my only option was to keep walking!?  Just as light was fading and the night was growing intolerably colder, I passed over a stream and heard the unmistakable noise of a human ahead in the woods.  A person.  I must be close to the shelter!  I called out Velvet's name.  No response.  I called it out again and waited... but only the solid silence of a cold forest pressed against my ears.  So, great, now I had begun hallucinating, I thought.  And for the second time on the Trail (the first being in NY during the heat wave) I honestly thought I might die.  I couldn't move my fingers, which were gripped ever tightly on the trekking poles, I couldn't focus my eyes, I was soaking wet in every layer of clothing, and now it was darkness and I'd begun hallucinating.  A few steps further, and a few more.... and I saw a sign.  For a shelter!  I'd made it to the shelter, and if you've ever been a hiker on a trail in need of shelter, you'll agree that there are few things in life which inspire more joy.  Velvet was indeed there, and we threw out our gear, changed clothes, and crawled into our sleeping bags.  I was still shivering an hour later when Bumblebee and Biscuit showed up.  It was 9:30 before we saw the light of BC's headlamp bobbing up to the lean-to... we'd long since given him up for having set up his tent in the woods.  I was relieved- it was my nature on the Trail to worry about the safety of  BC whenever he was away from me.  I slept soundly that night knowing we were all okay.

My third and final pair of shoes: nothing more than laced mesh
strapped to a rubber sole.  My feet were wet for days on end.

So the rain and cold went on like this for days.  It was hard to enjoy the relative ease and apparent beauty of the 100-miles when you're cutting your days short and scurrying through the woods just to escape the inescapable.  I hadn't wanted to text my family to tell them where I was because not only was I going slower than I wanted, but I also wanted to surprise them on my summit day.  So, at a place called White House Landing (a small outpost in the 100-miles offering hot food and bunks only accessible by boat) we stopped to once again evade a rainy, cold night.  It was here that I texted my dad that I was still in the 100-miles but doing okay.  I didn't tell him, but we were maybe three or four days from Katahdin at this point.  The forecast called for clearing skies and a final warm push of air.  It looked like we were going to have a beautiful week in which to finish our hike.....

Even through the rain, autumn was exquisite.

White Mountains and Western Maine *Quick UPDATE*

Hey!  I jumped into the library really quickly here in Rangely, Maine but don't have time to stay.  I'll just do a really quick update:

-BC got sick (Giardia?) right before the White Mountains and took about 4 days off, 3 of which happened to coincided with Hurricane Irene.  If you hadn't heard, the White Mountains were closed during the Hurricane.  Boo... :(  He is now better and has been walking with the group for the past couple weeks.

-Once the forest was opened to us hikers again, I found the Whites were 100 miles of AMAZING scenery and INTENSE trail-hiking.  Subsequently, they were my favorite miles on the Trail so far.  It was wet and dangerous and our miles slipped- averaging about 10 per day.  That's going to be normal for a while, even now that I'm out of the Whites and into Maine.  This is some tough stuff...

-Summiting Mt. Washington was my favorite single event on the Trail so far.  It was cold, wet, and windy, with a visibility of maybe 20 feet.  The wind absolutely HOWLED through the metal rigging and towers at the top. My bandana blew off my head as soon as I summited.  It was powerful and amazing and exactly what climbing the mountain with the "world's worst weather" should feel like.

-I'm still hiking with Bumblebee, Biscuit, Velvet and BC.  Velvet has been feeling sick lately and might not continue hiking.  BC and I hitched into town with him yesterday (after hiking 4 measly miles in chilly weather) and are going to head back out on the Trail this afternoon after resupplying and showering here in Rangely.

-Still haven't seen that elusive porcupine... the last critter on my list of animals to see.  I'm hoping the rest of Maine will provide.

-Will be summiting Saddleback mountain tomorrow, where on a clear day I can see both Mt. Washington AND (AND!) Katahdin!!!!!!  At least that's what the guide book says.  We'll see...

-Hopefully I'll be picking up the miles soon and I'll be done with the Trail before you know it.  We're all in a state now where we know the end is near... and we both DON'T and DO want it to arrive.  It will be disorienting and sad to return to a life where there's no longer unexplored forest to walk everyday, where you're sure of where you'll be sleeping each night and of where you'll find your food.  All my friends will be gone.  But it will hopefully also be rewarding and relaxing.  I'm looking forward to not walking for a week straight and someone at home (nudge-nudge) spoon-feeding me Haagen-Dazs Pineapple Coconut ice cream. 
:)

My next update could be after I summit Katahdin!  Who knows?  I'm having fun and enjoying the beauty of Maine and the approach of autumn.

The "bubble" of hikers I'm walking in now

Some of my friends on the Trail:

BC, Velvet, Navigator, Biscuit, Bumblebee

BC, Hopeful (and Ally) on ground.  Sweet Tea
Guinness and Nate Dogg (?) standing.

Bumblebee and I in Dalton, Mass. at Tom Levardi's house.

Vermont

Hello to all!

Before I write a bit about the beautiful state of Vermont, I'd like to add something that should have been included in my last blog: that we were able to see the NYC skyline from the top of nearby Bear Mountain in New York!  I even saw the Empire State Building.  Bear Mountain is less than 40 miles away in an area that is completely wooded and remote.  You'd never guess one of the largest cities in the world is right at your feet.  And Abbey, I wish we could have met up but the timing was not right and my funds are nearing non-existence.  :(  I promise we'll see each other soon...

So after a bumpy but scenic stroll through Connecticut and Massachusetts, we were suddenly in Vermont.  The mountains and weather changed almost immediately on the border line...  a cool front moved in, bringing with it some intense rain.  One night near the VT border I was lying in my tent reading when I heard an airplane or semi-truck moving quickly towards the mountaintop.  It sounded like a large plane crashing in slow motion over the trees- a low roar and a rushing wind.  I soon realized that it was just an immense downpour moving steadily my way, and the roar was the huge droplets hitting the forest canopy.  I heard it come my way and prepared for the beating my tent would soon receive.  Of course, I assumed BC had also heard the rain coming and was sleeping with his rain fly on over his tent.  Whoops.  You can see where this went: BC wakes up in the middle of the storm of the century with rain flooding the inside of his tent.  He said he literally had to bail himself out by scooping rain from his tent with his cooking pot.  He was afloat on his blowup mattress... so he said.  ;)  I felt bad for the boy, but he should have been prepared.

The Appalachian Trail followed the famous Long Trail of Vermont for half of its way through the state, some 150 miles or so, through the lower half of the gorgeous Green Mountains.  In the Greens, the forest is not so much a place as it is a thing: you can sense it all around you, as if it has intelligence and is watching you.  I found myself looking behind my back, or all around me, as I hiked.  It wasn't a scary feeling- it was just that there was so much going on in each square foot of the forest, so many different plants and creatures that the whole place seemed alive.  I think the Green Mountains are probably the most beautiful forest we've walked in so far.

On our second day in Vermont, BC and I were talking about moose.  Just as we did with the bears, we bet on when we'd see our first moose.  "September third" I said confidently.  "September fourth" he replied competitively.  What a surprise, then, that later that same day, nearly a month before we thought we'd see one, I hear BC exclaim "Is that a freaking moose?!"  Sure enough, I looked downhill into the twilit forest and saw a dewlap and velveteen antlers.  Then it trotted gracefully away from the trail and turned to look at us.  It was a young bull, but still huge!  Like seeing a horse in the woods.  We cautiously stood and watched it a bit, then moved off quietly as to not intimidate it.  I hope we see another.

I have also seen my first beaver and beaver pond!  They're everywhere.  Then, just two or three days ago BC and I sat by a lake and watched/listened to loons.  I love that sound.  I then heard up in the trees a breathy, rapid laughter coming from what sounded like a very large bird.  Sure enough, a second later we saw our first bald eagle soaring above the lake.  I had guessed there was one nearby from the call, which I told myself I would remember when we saw a captive one at the Bear Mountain Zoo in NY.  It swooped for several minutes above the lake before retiring back to the forest canopy.

I am now in Hanover, New Hampshire, arriving a few days later than I'd wanted due to some intense storms we had over the last week.  My fellow hiker Bumblebee is a graduate of Dartmouth's graduate school and so got us a sweet hook-up in some of the nicest accommodations we've had yet on the Trail.  We're staying in what is essentially Dartmouth's Business school's "hotel" where they let executives stay while at campus seminars and conferences.  Wonderful!  Velvet, Navigator, Biscuit and BC are also here with Bumblebee and I.  Many other hikers are also in town... probably 20 or so that we've been seeing for the past several months on the Trail.  However, our little "bubble" (Bumblebee, BC, Navigator, Velvet, and Biscuit, along with the not-present Guinness [and her dog Ally] and Hopeful) are who I've been mostly hiking with over the last several weeks.  This is the group I'm closest to on the Trail... and I've  been hoping that we'll stick together and end up summiting Katahdin together as well.  That's still a long way off, however... (about 450 or so miles).

So this will be my last stop in town before we hit the infamous/famous White Mountains of NH.  Most would say that the Whites and the subsequent western Maine portion of the Trail is the most difficult.  I think I'm finally ready.  I've been grilling all the southbounders I've seen about the Whites and I think I've finally pumped myself up enough that I'm not afraid anymore!  There's only one way to find out, I guess.  Why am I afraid?  Most of the Whites (the peaks, essentially) are above tree-line, making you vulnerable in the case of bad weather.  Also, the climbs are INTENSE- basically all rock scrambles up and down the mountains, which are themselves very tall.  Also, if we don't plan correctly or if bad weather picks up quickly, we will find ourselves shelling out upwards of $85 a night to sleep in the stone huts (as opposed to the mostly free shelters or campsites) which the local Trail maintenance group runs for weekend vacationers. 

All I can do is take a deep breath and go for it, I guess. I mean, I've walked 1700+ miles so far, you think I'd be used to climbing mountains by now.  Geez.... ;)

And so I bid you adieu for a while... maybe until Maine.  We're shooting for an October first summit of Katahdin so that we may be able to see some nice fall colors while in Maine.  Plans may change, but keep your fingers crossed for me around that time. 

Thinking of you all!
Tara

NY, NY, and lower New England

Hello everyone!  I am 4 miles from the Vermont border, sitting in the Williamstown, Mass. public library.  Williamstown is the home of Williams College, a pretty liberal arts school that kinda takes me back to my days at Miami U in Oxford.  Of course, (as I always brag) Miami is still more beautiful... 

I somehow seemed to have survived the Dog Days of summer. Barely. As I told a few of you already, I was on top of a mountain the day that NY/NJ hit record temperature highs.  Struggling across the rocks, with no tree cover to protect from the sun and having recently drank the last of my water, for 30 or so minutes I honestly wondered if I was going to die.  Ha! Sounds quite dramatic, but I assure you I wasn't being overly so.  My eyeballs felt swollen, as did my brain, giving me a massive headache.  I began stumbling and panicking.  I felt my body temperature rise and there was not a thing I could do about it as town (and water) were still at least 2 miles away, thousands of feet down in the valley, nestled against a lake I could (achingly) see off to my right.  Alone, as BC was hiking ahead of me, I very seriously wondered if I would make it to town.  What an odd feeling...  for only the second time in my life I really felt as though I might actually die (the first being when a plane I was in hit "clear air turbulence" over the Gulf and "nearly crashed" as I like to say).  At last I found the side trail off the AT that would take me into town, and almost an entire mile passed before I heard a trickle of water to my left: a small spring flowing from the rocks with just enough room for me to cup a hand under and bring water to my mouth.  I literally collapsed to my knees and began throwing water on my face, into my mouth.  My head cooled instantly... and I knew I would be okay.  How different it is to pass a summer heatwave in a home or air-conditioned building, while there are some of us lapping groundwater from our dirty hands just to stay alive!  When I finally made it to the bottom of the mountain I saw BC in the distance near a ball field with a garden hose.  Needless to say, we both took turns running through the hose water before finally deciding to spend the next couple of days cooped up in air-conditioned bliss in a hotel.  I heard afterwards that a West Point cadet died that same day of heat-related causes not far from where we were.

So, that was really the only bad thing about the last few weeks on the Trail.  New England has been nice, in general.  The people are great and really helpful to hikers.  The towns and homes are gorgeous, and many of them date to the late 1600s/early 1700s.  The terrain has steadily been intensifying, much to our collective chagrin, but we need to slowly ease ourselves back into the mountains as the Whites are only a few weeks away and consideredy by many to be the hardest part of the Trail.  :(  I hope I do well...

I'd sadly like to state that camera #2 is broken (I know, I know... i have the WORST luck with point-and-shoots) and that camera #3 was ordered and recieved last week... so I will continue taking pictures that I'll hopefully have time to finally post once this whole walk is over.  Again, all apologies for not being able to do it now but there is just NOT enough time in the day.

BC and I have been traveling as of late with a lot of people we met early on in Georgia and North Carolina.  There's Velvet, Bumblebee, Guinness and her dog Ally, Swamp Dawg, etc.  It's nice to have old friends back again.  I've been thinking a lot of the end of the trip (which doesn't seem so far away now) and summiting Katahdin.  I wonder who will be with me on that day... I hope it is some of the friends I'm hiking around now. 

The colder weather has started since we've been heading north, and I asked Dad and Becky to send my winter gear back to me.  I finally have my sleeping bag back after a few months without it!  This means no more sleepless cold nights.  Both BC and I are wishing for cold days again, as we do so much better when it's chilly. 

I can't believe we really have less than 2 months left.  BC and I are guessing October 1st or so for our last day.  We will have to take our time in the Whites (of New Hampshire) and western Maine, so that may slow us down more than we'd like... but we see no reason right now that we will not make it to Katahdin by the first week of October.  Hence, much of our daily conversations have revolved around what we're going to do when we get off the Trail.  As for him, he's leaning towards going to college... which I highly support.  I think I will probably move back to Ohio for a while, work near my parents' home in Wilmington, and save money while I send out resumes to various state parks across the country, hoping that one of them will eventually want to hire me! 

We've been seeing southbounders on a daily basis lately.  Most of them left Maine in June or July.  They still have soooo much further to go!  We're glad we're nearer the end than they are.  Also, they smell really bad! HAHA!  I don't know what it is, but us northbounders NEVER smelled like that...  

I'm nearly out of time on this computer, though I had more to say.  I should be taking another day off somehwere in Vermont next week, so hopefully will have prepared a more interesting, fact-filled blog update by then. 

Thanks for reading, and until next time...

The NORTH!

Sheesh.  Did I really go through ALL of Pennsylvania (not to mention little Maryland) without posting? 

I guess it was just one of those states I wanted to get through, though- don't get me wrong- I really enjoyed it.  It was beautiful, and much of it reminded me of Ohio (which BC had to hear over and over and over again every time we walked through a grassy meadow or the wind blew just so on a cool sunny day).  True, PA lived up to its rocky reputation, but it was mostly flat and straight, not to mention that we saw THREE rattlesnakes and multiple copperheads in PA- the only state so far in which we've seen venemous snakes.  Pretty cool if you ask me.  It struck me as I was walking away from the last rattler I'd seen (a long, thick yellow-phase timber rattler that I nearly stepped on as it crossed the Trail) that I'm out here with venemous snakes and bears... sometimes just FEET away from them, and if this would have happened at the Zoo there would be people running around with guns and nets and tranquilizers and people freaking out and keepers pulling their hair out wondering what to do!  But out here in the wilderness I walk among "dangerous animals" and we get along- somehow- and everyone is fine.  And there really is a mutual respect between creatures out here.  I was thinking of this the other day, as I realized that the MILLIONS of chipmunks and millipedes and daddy long-legs and ants and rat snakes (etc.) are as much my companions as the handful of other hikers I'll see in a day.  And I (and most others) would go out of my way to avoid at any cost harming any other living thing on the trail.  This means I spend a portion of my day dancing around them on the rocks and grass so as not to step on them.  But that's a part of being an inhabitant of the forest, I guess...

But speaking of bugs, let me again state how HORRIBLE the gnats are around here.  My rule is that I won't harm anything unless it attacks me first... so biting gnats and mosquitos have it coming!  Honestly, the gnats were worse than the rocks in PA.  There's a particular tiny species that follows along in front of your face right next to your eyes and periodically dive-bombs them (and your ears, nose and mouth) in search of who-knows-what, leaving you cursing and flailing on the Trail trying to get them out of wherever they flew into!  My final technique was part acceptance and part trickery: I'd let them land on my eyelids and then close my eyes really hard, hoping to squish them that way.  (You know, typing that out it sounds kinda gross... but completely normal for the Trail.)  It worked about 35% of the time.  Resiliant little buggers...

Geez.  Not to go on about bugs, but I can't write about PA without mentioning that a bunch of people are getting Lyme disease this year.  People falling out left and right, going to the doctor with weird symptoms such as lethargy, muscle aches and pains, joint pains, loss of appetite, etc.  And what's scary is that, though I check myself for ticks, there have still been two instances in which I've found a couple attached to me that were on me for at least the night- one of which had gotten swollen with blood.  Now, that sounds gross, but keep in mind these are tiny, MINISCULE, little ticks... most look like a speck of dirt or freckle.  I'm not used to that, coming from Ohio where we have the large dog ticks.  Deer ticks are new to me and a whole other ballgame.  PA is the state with the hightest number reported cases of Lyme, and Lyme is the fastest growing and number one diagnosed infectious disease in the country.  So far, I seem okay.  If I make if off the Trail without getting Lyme, I will consider myself lucky, though.

So, a little about the Trail in PA.  Like I said above, it lived up to the reputation of being a rocky, aggrivating state in some areas.  PA is where they say boots go to die.  Indeed, my new boots, with less than 200 miles on them, now have parts of their soles ripped off in places, chunck by chunk.  It was inevitable.  But the berries more than made up for the rocks.  There are innumerable blueberry bushes, blackberry and raspberry vines, mullberry trees, and a new one to me (but very tasty) that is called Japanese wineberry.  I was unfamiliar with that one, but it looked so similar to black and raspberries that I picked one and took a chance.  Tastes delicious.  I didn't die, so I continued eating them.  :) 

The weather has been hot but not so humid, with many days having a steady cool breeze.  Hiking has been wonderful on those days, many of them reminding me of childhood summers in Ohio.  I wish I could capture those days and share them... but a picture won't get the sound of the robins, or the soft leaves hitting each other in the tree tops, or the warm coconut-y smell of the fields of forest ferns wafting across the mountian ridges.  I take a picture of this beautiful place that I wish to share with everyone back home, and it basically turns out as a picture of a bunch of bright green contrasted too sharply with a sky of blue.  Hmm... disappointing.  Some things just have to be experienced to be understood, I guess. 

I only have a few remaining minutes, but I'll add that by entering northern PA, I finally feel as if we've reached "the North".  Different foods, different accents, different ways of living up here.  But the forest looks different, too.  Birch, maple, walnut, and even some sort of poplar or aspen are trees that I'm seeing a lot of now, as opposed to mostly tulip poplar and oak of the south.  Soon we'll be in New England, and I really am so excited to be hiking in an area of the country that I've not even visited by car.

When I think of my hike so far, I see a string laid out over the eastern coast of the US, going up and over the highest peaks of the mountain chain there.  And I think, incredibly, that I've WALKED that string.  It's crazy, but wonderful.

Have to run... till next time.